


Holy Night

by RurouniHime



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adoption, Christmas, Cuddling and Snuggling, Established Relationship, F/F, Family, Jealousy, Love, M/M, Mistletoe, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-22
Updated: 2011-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-21 16:10:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginny heads home on Christmas Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holy Night

The air is as quiet and crisp as the patches of snow lining the walkway, tumbled where the grass used to be. The street, lined with the muted glow of windows, is deserted, and the soft thrum-husssshhh of the city is ever-present to Ginny's ears as she walks.

The neighbour's house twinkles; tiny coloured lights send iridescent shimmers over the snowdrifts and frosted windowpanes. Ginny pauses halfway up her front steps and rummages through her bag. The polished holly of her wand is easily visible in the moon's milky gleam. Lucky that: the clouds that have threatened all week have decided to share the sky, and now there are two bright stars pricking just above the roof's steeple.

It is later than she would have liked, and Ginny's bones ache. Harry had been in a flurry to leave, his wide smile enfolding the rest of them and making it that much easier to leave their paperwork lying in neat little piles on desks instead of tucked safely into a cabinet somewhere. Harry's cheer was infectious. Anxious to get home to the little one and give his lover much needed rest, but Ginny doubts they'll be sleeping much.

She rubs her eyes with frozen fingertips and taps the door five times. Thrice around the knob, and once at each hinge.

The house smells of gingerbread and cedar wood. Ginny feels the rush of heat against chapped cheeks, and shuts the door on a snow flurry that tries to follow her inside. She shuffles down the dark hall and stumbles over a pair of tall, elegant boots, still dripping melting snow onto the floor. Ginny purses her lips, nudges at the heel of her own boot until it drops from her foot, and imagines a scattering of little primary coloured galoshes over the floor of Harry's wide foyer.

The adoption had been the final blow to her complacency. So permanent.

A fire smoulders behind the grating, laving the living room in soothing orange shadows. Tinny voices singing _Hosannah in Excelsius_ filter in from the wireless in the kitchen. Ginny sets her bag down on the countertop - a pristine white, even for formica; who knew Slytherins could be so fastidious? - and takes a ginger cookie from the plate. The taste bursts against her tongue, and Ginny pauses, closing her eyes and groaning softly.

Her favourite.

Archimedes flits into the kitchen on quiet, pattering paws and chirps at her, striped tail high in the air.

"What? You already have milk." Archimedes _mraows_ plaintively and Ginny stoops with a sigh, "Oh, _there_ ," and runs her hand up and down the length of the tabby's back. A throaty purr surges into the room. Archimedes arches and Ginny leaves the kitchen with another cookie.

Pansy is asleep on the couch, blonde hair falling in ripples over the pillow. One hand peeks from beneath the orange caftan over her shoulders, fingers slightly curled. Ginny recognizes the warm tones of brown: Pansy's oldest jumper, pyjama pants, stockinged feet. Pansy's eyelashes are a fine ebony dusting over smooth cheeks. A mostly empty glass of eggnog sits on the coffee table, and the remains of dinner. Ginny leans over. A small salad, stuffed cannelloni with marinara.

Ginny stretches her arms high above her head, feeling the arch and pop of her back. She wants nothing more than to fall on the couch, wrap the caftan around her, and sleep the weariness of work from her muscles. Instead she eases Pansy's head from the pillow and manoeuvres into the space beneath. The couch envelops her like the fire's heat and she leans back into it, shutting her eyes.

Pansy's fingers twitch on her knee and Ginny breathes and listens as the song in the kitchen changes. _Do You Hear What I Hear?_ She used to sing it as a child, yelling through the house with the twins answering upstairs until Mum cast silencing spells over them all. Now, Pansy's head is a warm weight on her thigh, and Ginny mouths the words.

Harry will be singing carols to his baby right now, her little body tucked into the crook of his arm. And there, leaning in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed and hair a golden halo around his face…

"I told you to wake me, not sit there holding me like an agonized lover."

Ginny leans back and Pansy lifts her head. She blinks, eyes heavy-lidded in the fire's glow.

"Hi," Ginny says softly. Pansy's fingers squeeze her knee.

"Just get home?"

Ginny nods, and Pansy yawns, arching and stretching her legs straight. Her muscles shiver at the effort before she curls back into a ball. Ginny rubs her hip with one thumb.

"Dinner in the kitchen for you." Pansy's voice is still muddled, the words looping slightly together. Ginny squints down at her.

"How much nog have you had?"

Pansy shakes her head and draws the caftan around her shoulders once more. "Not very much."

"Hm."

"Prat finally let you go, then?"

Ginny takes a deep breath and strokes Pansy's side. "He's not a prat. Wanted to get home to the baby."

"Not really… not really a baby anymore."

"…No." Ginny studies her hand, deep, burnished yellow in the light. A log pops, scattering sparks into the air, and Pansy smiles and turns over, shuffling until she is looking up at Ginny.

One hand climbs from beneath the blanket and there is a sprig of something between her fingers. She holds it aloft. Ginny's stomach flips at the slow grin melting onto Pansy's features.

"Just look what you've gotten yourself into."

The mistletoe is vibrant, its leaves velvety-looking. Ginny glances at it only once before meeting Pansy's eyes. They are a gentle brown, satin swirls of cocoa under long dark lashes. Hazel flecks here and there. Ginny leans down, fingers drifting over one silky cheek, and touches her lips to Pansy's.

It's only been since this morning that she kissed Pansy, rolling out of bed and stumbling into the bathroom, hoping she wouldn't be late for work again. The last of the decorations had still been tumbling out of chests and boxes then, not hung neatly upon a glittering tree, or lining cold windows and doorways. Pansy's face is a fragile pink-gold under the tree's lights, and Ginny touches it as she kisses her.

Pansy tastes spicy, like eggnog and gingerbread.

When it ends, Pansy pulls away, running a tongue over her lips and sighing. "Your mum's having dinner at four tomorrow."

"Mm."

A pause. "She invited me again."

Ginny looks at the tree and sees a tiny ornament she spelled messily together at age five. It sits up in the higher branches, surrounded by lights. "'Course she did."

Pansy nods and says nothing for a long time. Ginny feels the chords from the wireless swelling in her chest, and thinks that Malfoy will be there as well, a little copper-haired girl propped up against his shoulder, eyes as wary as Pansy's for the first half hour. And Harry would be smiling.

"I'm going to make treacle," Pansy murmurs, and Ginny can hear the sleep filtering in again.

"Dad likes your treacle."

"I know."

Harry likes it too, as does his lover and their small new addition. They've probably decorated their home in golden bows and pixie-lights for her to chase, with cut-out cookies on the table and frosting all over tiny chubby fingers. She can't imagine Malfoy doing it, but with Harry gone all day at work, who else is there? There'll be candles flickering on their mantelpiece, and tinsel at the windows.

Pansy has put tinsel up, all over the tree, and it glitters gold in the firelight. Fairy lights hover in the living room, and the smell of cinnamon wafts from every corner, from the couch cushions and the pillows. There is a popcorn chain tangled in the lower branches of the tree. Archimedes settles himself on the loveseat across the room and licks his tail, whiskers splayed, eyes squinted into two black stripes that rise over the tops of his ears. His purr is audible. The logs shift once more in the fireplace, _clok_ ing softly. Pansy sighs and turns over again, one arm slipping around Ginny's thigh, and Ginny thinks: Harry won't be returning to as warm and inviting a home as this.

She realizes in a moment of sudden sweep and shush that her bitterness is now only a memory of anger that should be there, and isn't.

"Huh," she murmurs, wondering.

"Hm?" Pansy breathes, but she is already asleep; Ginny can tell by her lips. They part slightly, and the soft flow of breath alights on Ginny's fingertips. Ginny strokes a stray lock of hair behind Pansy's ear and leans her head back. The wireless goes quiet for a moment, and then the rolling resonance of _O Holy Night_ reaches Ginny's ears.

By tomorrow morning, there will be wrapped parcels everywhere under the tree. Blue with little snowmen from Mum; opaque purple and lopsided bows from Luna; crisp red and white stripes from Ron and Hermione; shiny, forest green from Harry and Malfoy.

But she will have to come downstairs early; she wants her simple gold-wrapped box to be the first one Pansy sees.

~fin~


End file.
